


Décolletage

by Mr_Customs_Man



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Genderfluid Crowley (Good Omens), Good Omens Kink Meme, He/Him Pronouns For Aziraphale (Good Omens), Multi, Re-Dressing, She/Her Pronouns for Crowley (Good Omens), Undressing, Victorian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-12 18:40:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28890015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mr_Customs_Man/pseuds/Mr_Customs_Man
Summary: Crowley enlists Aziraphale's help on an assignment from Hell. A small temptation, seduce someone important, standard procedure. Crowley shows up wearing her best evening dress, but Aziraphale's gown is almost a century out of date. Of course, he'll need to change and Crowley decides to help him out, hands-on.For the Good Omens Kink Meme.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	Décolletage

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this prompt--
> 
> "People always make jokes about Aziraphale wearing too many layers, but if you want really complicated clothing, mid-nineteenth century women’s clothing (or at least, rich women’s clothing) in the West is definitely up there. Layered skirts in sumptuous fabrics, boned corsets and high-laced boot. Buttons and ribbons and ruffles galore. Seemingly infinite petticoats. The fashion equivalent of some ostentatious seven-layer wedding cake.
> 
> I have no preference as to why Aziraphale is wearing such clothing, but I would very much like for Crowley to remove all those beautiful layers—not shred them or cut them off, but unwrap Aziraphale like a birthday gift—and then rail him. Or make sweet and sumptuous love to his angel. You could probably swing it either way.
> 
> No real preference for pronouns or efforts for either, but a bosom to fill out the bodice would be nice.
> 
> Bonus: Crowley living up to his first name and crawling under Aziraphale’s skirts (or at least a few petticoats) to eat him out until his legs threaten to collapse."

“For Go... For Sa... _For Someone’s sake, what are you wearing?_ ” Crowley demanded as Aziraphale slumped toward her in a _robe a la francaise_ , his face set in a decided sulk.  
  
“What?” Aziraphale demanded. “This is the height of fashion!”  
  
“Yeah, _seventy years ago_! We’re trying to seduce the man, not remind him of his grandmother!”  
  
“ _You’re_ trying to seduce him, I was strong-armed into this,” Aziraphale muttered.  
  
Crowley folded her arms. “I helped you with that miracle in Hungary four years ago, _and_ I paid for lunch. It’s your turn to help me.”  
  
“But I’ve never seduced anyone before!”  
  
“And you never will if you wear that! Back to my apartment, right now, you’re going to change!” Crowley lifted up her hand and seemingly out of nowhere a hansom cab came to a stop in front of them. She started shoving at Aziraphale, forcing him into the carriage while shouting, “In! In! Just squish the panniers out of the way!”  
  
Aziraphale grumbled as he was nearly upended by Crowley’s wild movements and her near-constant stream of insults against his panniers. _She_ was the one wearing a bloody crinoline, she had no room to talk about _his_ undergarments. Crowley settled in next to him, and then they were off as Crowley gave him a rundown of the latest fashions. “First off, powdered hair is _out_ ,” Crowley said.  
  
“This is my natural hair color,” Aziraphale protested.  
  
“Secondly, it’s all about looking like a cupcake,” Crowley plowed onward. “Giant, round bottom full of ruffles and flounces, teeny tiny upper half like a cherry topping a cake. Oh, and décolletage!” She sighed and stared longingly at Aziraphale’s currently ample chest. “I wish I could make my bosoms larger.” She grabbed hold of her bodice and jiggled what she did have, which, while admittedly wasn’t much, still set Aziraphale’s cheeks aflame. “I’m just so... straight and skinny.”  
  
Aziraphale grabbed her hand to stop her from... from jiggling. “You’re perfectly lovely, my dear, now _please stop._ ”  
  
The smile Crowley shot him was decidedly wicked and completely inappropriate. The cab rolled to a stop and she threw open the door, tugging on Aziraphale’s hand and pulling her out and into a garishly furnished hotel. Her rooms were just as garish, almost pretentious with its bohemian decorations and dark color scheme. “I don’t know why you can never bother to open the curtains,” Aziraphale grumbled.  
  
Crowley gave a long-suffering sigh. “Too much light ruins the ambiance.”  
  
“Heaven forbid you see where you’re going.”  
  
“In!” Crowley commanded and pushed him into her dressing room. “Off!” She started pulling out the pins that held the overgown and stomacher in place. Her hands danced over his body, lingering dangerously close to his breasts.  
  
He shooed her away, his blush growing hotter. “I am quite capable of undressing myself, thank you.”  
  
Crowley pulled away, throwing a smirk over her shoulder as she sashayed to her wardrobe. Aziraphale started unpinning his gold-and-cream gown, staring longingly at the fine embroidery. It seemed as though every time he started to like the new fashions, the humans up and changed them! Aziraphale stole at glance at Crowley. She wore a red silk ball gown that bared her shoulders and a plunging neckline that showed off the long column of her neck. The last time Aziraphale had seen Crowley, he had been wearing his hair straight—had been for some time, in fact. But now those lovely curls were back in tiny ringlets framing her face. If only she wouldn’t wear those damnable sunglasses! It’d been centuries since Aziraphale had seen her without them.  
  
Crowley turned back around, her arms full of black silk, and made a face at Aziraphale. “Oh, no! All of it is coming off! Stays, panniers, all of it!”  
  
Aziraphale folded his arms. “I don’t see why I need to change my underwear.”  
  
“You need a corset to get the right shape, you need to change your stockings – white stockings for day wear, black stockings for evening wear – and, most importantly, you’ll ruin the line of the dress otherwise.”  
  
Aziraphale sighed, but complied and started loosening the laces of his stays. He pulled the stomacher free and slipped out of the stays. Crowley started untying the panniers, paused, and peered down into the hole that had been cut into the cage. “Oh, that,” Aziraphale said. “I couldn’t wear pockets with my panniers, so I just sort of... started using my panniers as pockets.”  
  
Crowley reached inside and pulled out a first edition copy of Charles Dickens’s _Oliver Twist_.  
  
“ _Angel_ ,” Crowley managed to get out between half-choked laughs.  
  
Aziraphale snatched the book from her hands. “Just hand me the stockings!”  
  
Crowley tossed them to her, still laughing, and Aziraphale rucked up his shift to untie her old white stockings. The laughter suddenly cut off, only to be replaced with coughing. Aziraphale looked up to see Crowley, her face a brilliant scarlet, looking in some far-off direction above Aziraphale’s head. “Angel, you’re, uh, not wearing any drawers.”  
  
Aziraphale realized that he had accidentally pulled up his shift high enough to reveal the Effort he had made for the evening. He flushed, but stood his ground. “Of course not! It’s not proper! Just imagine, a lady wearing drawers! What next?”  
  
“I assure it is very much the proper thing now.” Crowley hurriedly ran off to her wardrobe, pulling out a pair of drawers and a chemise to replace the shift Aziraphale was wearing.  
  
“Are you blushing?” Aziraphale asked, looking very much like the cat who got the cream.  
  
“Of course not!” Crowley cried, turning even redder. “Demons don’t blush!”  
  
“Honestly, you’re acting like that time we visited a Roman bath.”  
  
“It was my first time making an Effort and there were all those humans, their Efforts just flopping about!”  
  
Aziraphale stood in the middle of the room in black stockings, drawers, chemise, and corset. The split busque had made putting on the corset a breeze, much easier than his old stays. Crowley came around to his back and tightened a few of the laces, not inhibiting his movement or breath (though it wasn't as if he had need for breathing), but merely to smooth it out and—oh, there were his breasts, looking very high and prominent. Crowley was right about the décolletage.  
  
Crowley dropped a crinoline cage made of whalebone on the floor and guided Aziraphale over top of it. She bent down, grabbed hold of it, and then—Up! Like an accordion expanding it came to completely encircle Aizraphale’s lower half. “How many whales died to make this?” Aziraphale dryly asked.  
  
“Details, details.” Crowley tied it off at the waist. “Now, the petticoats!”  
  
Up and over went a petticoat. Then another. And another.  
  
“And, finally, the main event.”  
  
The skirt came over his head next. Aziraphale wrinkled his nose at the fine black silk as Crowley went around to his back to close the bodice. “It’s _black_ ,” Aziraphale complained.  
  
“What’s wrong with black?” Crowley asked as she moved on to his hair, letting down the big, poufy coif that Marie Antoinette had made so stylish. She ran her fingers through the strands, and like magic they twisted themselves into a small, elegant bun.  
  
“People will think I’m in mourning.”  
  
Crowley leaned over his shoulder, pressed her scandalously red painted lips together, and _blew_. The black flaked away, revealing white taffeta with pale pink trimmings underneath. Aziraphale gave her a soft smile, delighting in Crowley’s returning blush. And then she remembered...  
  
“My shoes!”  
  
Aziraphale looked down, but his legs were nowhere to be found. His entire lower half was completely hidden behind the voluminous crinoline cage.  
  
“Never fear, Crowley’s here,” Crowley said in a sing-song voice. The blush was gone and in its place was a mischievous grin that Aziraphale was beginning to both love and dread. Crowley picked up a pair of satin dancing shoes and with one flick of her rest, the crinoline was flying up like a gust of wind had come along, nearly coming over Aziraphale’s head. He felt Crowley take his foot and guide it into first one shoe and then the other. Aziraphale finally managed to beat the crinoline back down, though he could still taste the taffeta. “You’re not nearly as funny as you think you are.”  
  
Crowley laughed. “I’ll have you know I was voted Most Funny out of all the demons in Hell.”  
  
“Small competition.”  
  


* * *

  
  
Crowley sat slumped at a table, head in hand, as she watched her Temptee make doe eyes at a tall, strapping young man with black hair and sparkling brown eyes. Aziraphale sat next to her, eating a slice of lemon meringue pie. “Did you do _any_ research for this temptation?” He asked.  
  
Crowley shot him a look.  
  
“What is Hell going to say about your little gender mix-up then?”  
  
“Give me a commendation for sloth?”  
  
Aziraphale snorted. “We can find an empty room, change up our Efforts and try again. Are breeches still in style?”  
  
“Angel, look around you, do you see anyone wearing any breeches?”  
  
“Pity. They made my calves look fantastic,” Aziraphale mourned.  
  
“I could grow a moustache,” Crowley mused. “One of those big, bushy, walrus-looking ones--”  
  
“No, don’t, please.”  
  
“--with the ends all curled up. Oh, and sideburns!”  
  
Aziraphale groaned. “There is a thing as being _too_ fashionable, you know.”


End file.
